Chapter 11. The Sport Still Continued

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_ CHAPTER XI. The Sport Still Continued

It is necessary to say here, that Moylan had not the slightest intention of sending Mr. Purcel's car to meet our friend M'Carthy, inasmuch as he never for a moment supposed that this devoted youth was likely to leave the mountains alive. His own egregious vanity, engrafted on a cowardly, jealous, and malignant disposition, prompted him, ever since he had been induced by the pedlar, out of a mere banter, to suppose that he had engaged the affections of Julia Purcel, to look upon this young man as a person that ought to be got out of his way. In this manner there was, indeed, a peculiar combination of circumstances against M'Carthy; for it so happened that Moylan, whilst anxious to wreak his own jealousy and hatred upon him, was, at the same time, executing the will of another individual who stood behind the scenes. On every side, then, M'Carthy was surrounded by mortal dangers that were completely veiled in obscurity. During this very night it was resolved to assassinate him, be the consequences what they might; and if he should escape, in the one instance, he was to be sought after in whatever house he took refuge, with the exception only of Purcel's, which his enemies were, for the present, afraid to attack. Every avenue and road leading to it however, was watched, with a hope that if he escaped elsewhere, they might shoot him down from, behind a hedge.

The condition of all secret and illegal societies in Ireland is, indeed, shocking and most detestable, when contemplated from any point of view whatsoever. In every one of them--that is, in every local body or branch of such conspiracy--there is a darker and more secret class, comparatively few in number, who undertake to organize the commission of crimes and outrages; and who, when they are controlled by the peaceably-disposed and enemies to bloodshed, always fall back upon this private and blood-stained clique, who are always willing to execute their sanguinary behests, as it were, con amore. In other cases, however, as we have stated before, even the virtuous and reluctant are often compelled, by the dark and stern decrees of these desperate ruffians, to perpetrate crimes from which they revolt. It was, therefore, in pursuance of these abominable principles that the arrangements for M'Carthy's murder were made on the night in question.

Jerry Joyce perceiving, as he had feared, that M'Carthy did not return to dinner, at once came to the determination that he would go to Finnerty's, where, from his connection with Whiteboyism, he knew that a meeting of them was to be held on that night. He accordingly armed himself with a ease of pistols, which he had been allowed to keep for the preservation of his master's family and premises, in case they should be attacked. He had not gone, however, within two miles of the mountains, when he met Mogue on His way home, carrying M'Carthy's, or rather John Purcel's double gun, and other shooting gear.

"Why, Mogue," said he, "how does this come? Where's Mr. M'Carthy from you?"

"Oh! that I may never sin--but sure I know I will--for I'm a great sinner--God forgive me!--but anyhow, that I may never sin, if I'm worth the washin'! Oh! Jerry, darlin', sick a killin' day as we had I never passed, an' I'm well accustomed to the mountains. Sure, now, Jerry, if you have one spunk of common charity in your composition, you'll take me up on your back and carry me home, otherwise I'll lie down on the road, and either die at wanst or sleep it out till mornin'."

"But that's not tellin' me where you left Mr. M'Carthy," replied Jerry, whose apprehensions were not at all lessened by this indirect and circuitous answer. "Where is he, and what has become of him?"

"Of all the mists that ever riz out o' the airth, or fell from the blessed heavens above as--glory be to the name of God! we had it on the mountains this whole day. Why, now, Jerry, a happy death to me, but you might cut it with a knife, at the very least, an' how we got through it, I'm sure, barrin' the Providence of God, I dunna. But indeed we're far from bein' worthy of the care He takes of us."

While speaking, he had, as an illustration of his fatigue, taken his seat upon the grassy ditch, which bounded in the road, and altogether enacted the part of a man completely broken down by over-exertion.

"But, Mogue, my pious creature, you're not tellin' us where you left--"

"Why, then, salvation to you, for one Jerry, do you think it's ait him I did? Sound asleep in Frank Finnerty's I left him, where he'll be well taken care of. Oh! thin, if ever a poor inoffensive young gintleman--for sure he's that by birth, as we say, at all events, as well as by larnin'--was brought to death's door with this day's work, he was. I thought to flatther him home if he could come, but it was no go. An' thin, agin, I thought it was a sin to ax' him; an' so for a afraid they'd be alarmed at home, I was on my way to make all your minds aisy. An' whisper hether, Jerry--not that I look upon Frank Finnerty an the man he ought to be, for we all know the narrow escape he had for the murder of Tom Whisky's son--still an' all, he's safe wid Finnerty, bekaise he knows that we know where he is, and that if anything happened him we'd hould him accountable."

"Well," replied Jerry, affecting a satisfaction which, however, he did not feel, "I'm glad he's safe; for, as you say, Mogue, although Frank Finnerty is pretty well known, still what could tempt him to harm Mr. M'Carthy?"

"I know that," said Mogue; "still an' all, the nerra foot I'd brought him to his house, only we stumbled on it out o' the mist, by mere accident, an' by coorse it was the next to us. Goodness' sake, Jerry, carry these things home for me, will you? I'm not able to mark the ground--do, avick, an' I'll offer up a pathran avy for you before I lay down my head this night, tired as I am."

"Well, begad, it's myself that would, Mogue, but you see, as I'm out for a while, an' so near my poor mother's, throth I'll slip over and see how she is, the crature; only for that, Mogue, I'd lighten you of the shootin' things wid a heart an' a half."

"But sure you can see your poor mother, the crature, any other evenin'? Do come back, Jerry, an' I'll do twiste as much for you agin. Oh! oh! milia murther! I'm not able to get on my legs. Give me your hand, Jerry--oh! oh!--well, well--what's this at all? Jerry, achora, don't desart me now, 'an me in the state you see. I'll never get home by myself--that's what I won't--mavrone, oh! what's this?--I'm fairly kilt."

"Well, but the thruth is, Mogue," replied his companion, "that I got a message from my mother, sayin' that she's not well, and wishes most partiklarly to see me about my sisther Shibby's marriage. Now, Mogue, you're a pious and religious boy, an' would be the last to encourage me to neglect a parent's wishes: ay, or that would allow me to do so, even if I intended it; throth I know it's a scoulden' you'd give me if I did."

Mogue's flank was completely turned; he was, in fact, most adroitly taken upon his own principle; his egregious vanity was ticked by this compliment to his piety; and, as he was at no time a person of firm character, he gave way.

Thought Jerry to himself, as he left this plausible hypocrite, to proceed home under his affected fatigue, "I know there's mischief on foot to-night, for if there wasn't I an' others 'ud be summoned to this meetin'; there will be nobody there, I suppose, but the black squad or the bloodmen. It'll go hard wid me, at any rate, but I'll send one there that'll bring Mr. M'Carthy from among them without suspicion; an' so here goes to lose no time about it."

He then plunged into the most solitary and remote fields, and pursued his way, anxious, if possible, to meet no one, much less any of those who belonged, as he said, "to the black squad."

Of late, the state of public feeling upon the subject of tithes had become so violent and agitated, that Mr. Purcel's immediate friends found it almost a matter involving their personal safety to dine with him. At all events, such of them as accepted his hospitality took care to leave his house very early, and to keep themselves well armed besides. On the evening in question, no one had been invited but M'Carthy and Fergus O'Driscol. The heroic magistrate, however, ever since the receipt of the threatening letter, would not suffer his son (who certainly participated in none of his father's cowardice), to dine abroad at all, lest his absence and well-known intrepidity might induce the Whiteboys, or other enemies of law, to attack the house when its principal defence was from home. The evening, therefore, hung heavy on their heads at Longshot Lodge, which was the name of Purcel's residence, especially upon that of the fair Julia, who felt not merely disappointed, but unusually depressed' by the unaccountable absence of her lover, knowing as she did, the turbulence which prevailed in the country. She scarcely ate any dinner, and in the course of a short time retired to her own room, which commanded a view of the way by which he should approach the house, where she watched, casement up, until she heard a foot in the avenue, which, however, her acute ear, well accustomed to McCarthy's, soon told her was not that of her lover. On looking more closely she perceived, however, that it was Mogue Moylan; and, unable to restrain her impatience, she raised the window still higher, and called down as Mogue passed under it, on his way round to the kitchen, but in a low, earnest voice, with, as Mogue thought, a good deal of confidential in it, "Is that Mogue?"

"Eh!" he exclaimed, struck almost on the instant into a state of ecstacy; "Is that Miss Julia?"

"Yes, Mogue," she replied, in the same low voice, "I do not wish to run the risk of speaking to you from this; stay there, and I will go to one of the windows of the front parlor."

"Well," thought Mogue, "it is come to this at last? oh, thin, but I was a blackguard haythen an' nothing else ever to think of you, Letty Lenehan, or any low-born miscreant like you. The devil blow her aist, waist, north, and south, the flipen' blazes, and to think o' the freedoms she used to take wid me, as if she was my aquils; but sure, dam her cribs! whatever I intended to do, it wasn't to marry her, an' can I forget, moreover, the day she gave me the bloody nose, when I only went to take a small taste o' liberty wid the thief."

In the course of a minute or two, Julia made her appearance at the window, with, in fact, a blushing face, if it could have only been seen with sufficient light. Now that she stood within a couple of yards of Moylan, she felt all the awkwardness and embarrassment of the task she had undertaken, which was to inquire, without seeming to feel any personal interest, as to the cause of her lover's absence. In addition to the prevailing agitation, and the outrages arising from if, she had heard of so many accidents with sportsmen, so many guns had burst, so many explosions had taken place, and so many lives had been lost, that her warm fancy pictured his death in almost every variety of way in which a gun could occasion it. Owing to all this, she experienced a proportionable share of confusion and diffidence in managing her inquiries with proper address, and without betraying any suspicion of her motives.

"Mogue," said she, "I--hem--hem--I hope you don't feel fatigued after your sport'?"

"Ah, then, there it comes," thought Mogue; "how the crature feels for me! an' even if I did, Miss Julia, sure one kind word when I come home is fit to cure it."

"And you are sure to get that, Mogue," replied Julia, who took it for granted that he referred to Letty Lenehan, "but whisper," she proceeded, still speaking in a low voice, from an apprehension of being heard making the proposed inquiries by any of her family, "are you alone?"

"I am, indeed, Miss Julia," he replied in a tone of such coaxing and significant confidence, as would have been irresistibly laughable had she understood why he used it, "I am alone, Miss Julia, and you needn't be either ashamed or daunted in sayin' whatever you like to me--maybe I could guess what you're goin' to say, but I declare to you, and that my bed may be in heaven, but, say what you will, you'll find me--honor bright--do you understand that, Miss Julia?"

"Well, I think I do, Mogue, and if I didn't think so, I wouldn't have watched your return to-night as I did, or been here to speak to you on the subject you say you--know."

"An' sure, Miss Julia, you might a known, for some time past that I knew it; didn't I look like one that was up to it? An' listen hether, Miss Julia, my family was all honor bright; we wor great people in our day; sure we owned a big sweep of country long ago an' wor great sogers. We fought against the Sassenaghs, the dirty English bodaghs, an' because there was a lot of us ever an' always hanged from time to time, that's the raison why we have sich a hatred to the English law still, one an' all of us. Sure my grandfather, glory be to God, was hanged for killin' a Sassenagh gauger, and my own father, Miss Julia, did his endeavors to be as great as the best of them, knowin' no other way for to vex and revinge himself upon the dirty Sassenaghs of the country; for sure, you know yourself, it's full o' them'--ay, about us in all directions. Be borried a horse in a private way from one o' them, but then he escaped from that; he next had a 'bout at what they call'd perjury, although it was well known to us all that it was only his thumb he kissed, and, any how, the thing was done upon a Protestant Bible; but, at all events, he went an' honest and honorably, as far as gettin' himself transported for parjury. I hope you understhand, Miss Julia, that I'm accountin' for any disparagin' observations you might a' heard against us, an' showin' you why we acted as we did."

"But, Mogue," said she, smiling at this most incomprehensible piece of family history, "I hope you don't intend to imitate the example or to share the fate of so many of your family!"

"You really hope so; now do you really hope so, Miss Julia?"

"Unquestionably; for granting you marry, as, I dare say you intend, would it not be a melancholy prospect for your wife to--"

"Why, then I do intend it; are you not satisfied, Miss Julia? and what is more, although it's my intention to violate the law in a private and confidential way, still I have no intention of bein' either hanged or transported by it; that I may be happy if I have--No, for the sake of that wife, Miss Julia, do you understand, it's my firm intention to die in my bed if I can; I hope you feel that there's comfort in that."

"To whatever woman you make happy Mogue, there will be. Well, but, Mogue, tell me; had you a good day's sport?"

"Sorra worse then; God pardon me for swearin'," he replied. "There riz a mist in the mountains that a man could build a house wid, if there was any implements to be found, hard and sharp enough to cut it. All we got was a brace of grouse and a snipe or two."

"And--hem--well but--hem--why Mogue, you give but a very miserable account of the proceedings of the day. Had you any one with you?--Oh, yes, by the way, did I not see Mr. M'Carthy go out with you this morning?"

"Yes, Miss Julia, you did; he went out wid me, sure enough," replied Mogue, drily, and with rather a dissatisfied tone.

"He is a--hem, does he shoot well?"

"He shoots well enough, Miss Julia--when he pulls the trigger the gun goes off; but as for killin' birds, that my bed may be in heaven but they fly away laughin' at him."

"He came with you as far as O'Driscol's," she said, at once putting a query in the shape of an assertion, "and I suppose sent some apology to my father and brothers, for not having been here to dinner."

"Hem! come as far as Mr. O'Driscol's?" exclaimed Mogue; "troth he's about the poorest piece o' goods ever carried a gun--God help the unhappy woman that'll get him; for sorra thing he is but a mere excuse for a man. I left him lyin' like a half-hung dog, up in the mountains above."

Julia started, and almost screamed with terror at this account of her lover. "Gracious heavens, Moylan, what do you mean?" she exclaimed--"up in the mountains!--where and how in the mountains? Is he ill, or does he want aid or assistance?"

"No, Miss Julia; but the truth is, he's a poor cur of a creature that's not able to undertake a man's task at all; he's lyin' knocked up in Frank Finnerty's; moanin' and groanin' an' yowlin', like a sick hound; I had to carry or drag him over half the mountains; for, from the blessed hour of twelve o'clock this day, he wasn't able to put a foot undher him, an' he did nothing but blasphayme' an' curse every one he knew; your fathers and brothers, your sisther, and mother, and yourself; he cursed and blasphaymed you all, helther skelther; I could bear all, Miss. Julia till he came to run you down, an' 'tis well for him that I hadn't the gun in my hand when he did it, that's all; or, that I may never do an ill turn but I'd a' given him a touch o' the Moylan blood for your sake--an' now, Miss Julia," he proceeded, "I hope we understand one another. As for him he's a pitiful whelp!"

"Are you in jest or earnest?" she inquired, changing her tone.

"That luck may flow on me, but I'm in airnest, Miss Julia--but no matther for that, don't you let you spirits down, think of our great family; and remimber that them that was wanst great may be great agin. Plaise God we'll have back the forwhitled estates, when we get the Millstone broke, an' the Mill that ground us banished from the counthry; however, that will come soon; but in the mane time, Miss Julia, I have a saycret to tell you about him."

"About Mr. M'Carthy?" she asked, sadly puzzled as to the tendency and object of his conversation, but at the same time somewhat awakened to an indistinct interest, respecting this secret concerning her lover.

"Yes, miss; listen hether, Miss Julia; would you believe it that he, Mr. M'Carthy, is sworn, or any way as good as sworn, to take your father's life away?"

"No, Mogue," she replied firmly, but with good humor, "not a syllable."

"Well then," he proceeded, "if he did not swear to do it in plain words, he did as good. You won't braithe a syllable of this, Miss Julia; but listen still--You know the ruction that's through, the counthry aginst tides?"

"I do, I am sorry to say."

"An' that the whole counthry is sworn Whiteboys, and that all the Whiteboys in sworn, of coorse, to put an end to them. That's the oath they take now, miss, by all accounts."

"So they say Mogue."

"Well, miss, would you believe it, that that fellow, the ungrateful hound that he is, that same Francis M'Carthy, is at the head of them, is one of their great leaders, and is often out at night wid the villains, leadin' them on to disturbances, and directin' them how to act; ay, an' he doesn't like a bone in Mr. O'Driscol's body, any more than in your father's."

"Ha!--ha!--ha! very good, Mogue, but make it short--ha!--ha!--ha!--and who's your authority for all this?"

"Himself, miss, for a great part of it; it was this day, he wanted myself to become a White-boy; but I had the grace o' God about me, I hope, an' resisted the temptation. 'Mogue,' says he, 'you are a good Catholic, an' ought to join us; we're sworn to put down the tides altogether, an' to banish Protestantism out o' the counthry.'"

"But is not M'Carthy himself a Protestant?" said Julia.

"Not he, miss, he only turned to get a lob o' money from the Great College in Dublin above; sure they provide for any one that will turn, but he's a true Catholic at heart; air when the time comes he'll show it."

"And you say he joins their meetings at night, Mogue?"

"That I may be blest, but he does, miss; and since you must know the truth, he's at one o' them this very night."

"Then you have told me a falsehood with respect to his fatigue?"

"He put me up to it, miss; and bid me say it; howandever my mind wasn't aisy undher it; and now you know the truth."

"And does he blacken his face as well as the other Whiteboys?"

"That hurt or harm may never come near me but he does that same; I have it from them that seen him and knew him, in spite o' black face an' all."

"Ha! ha! ha!--well good-night, Mogue, and many thanks for your most important and truthful secret."

"Before you go, Miss Julia, one other word; listen, there a man worth a ship load of him, that's in grate consate wid you--remember the ould families, Miss Julia, an' them that suffered for--for--their counthry. Now here' the kind o' man I'd recommend you for a husband; don't let a pair o' red cheeks or black eyes lead you by the nose--an' what signifies a good figure, when neither the handsomest nor the strongest man can keep off a headache or a fit o' the blackguard cholic--bad luck to it--when they come on one. No, Miss Julia, always in the man that's to be your husband, prefer good lastin' color in the complection, an' little matther about the color of the eyes if they always smile upon yourself--then agin, never marry a man that swears, Miss Julia, but a man that's fond of his prayers, and is given to piety--sich men never use any but harmless oaths, sich as may I be blest, salvation to me, and the like--that's the kind o' men to make a husband of, and I have sich a man in my eye for you."

"Thank you, Mogue," said Julia, who was too quick-witted to misunderstand him any longer. "Many thanks for your good advice--and whisper, Mogue--who knows but I may follow it? Good-night!"

"Good-night, darlin'," he whispered in a kind of low triumphant cackle, that caused her to shake her very sides with laughter, after she had closed the window.

Julia Purcel, who could attribute Moylan's extraordinary conversation to nothing but a more than usual indulgence in liquor, did not for a single moment suffer herself to become influenced by the unaccountable information which she had heard respecting M'Carthy. But even if it had been true, she was so peculiarly circumstanced, that without disclosing the private conversation she had had with Moylan, she could not without pain communicate it to her family. As it was, however, she placed no confidence whatever in any portion of it, and on further reflection, she felt all her apprehensions concerning M'Carthy revived. If she experienced anything in the shape of satisfaction from the dialogue, it arose from the fact that if M'Carthy had suffered injury, Mogue would not have been so much at ease on his return. When his return was made known, however, to the family at large, Mogue repeated his first version, and assured them that he, M'Carthy had laid down in Finnerty's for an hour or so to recruit his strength. He supposed he would soon be home, he said--or for that matter, maybe as he found himself comfortable, he would stop there for the night. Mogue himself had come home to make their minds easy, and to let them know where he was, and what had kept him away. To a certain extent the family were satisfied, but as M'Carthy had communicated to the male portion of them the friendly warning he had got from the Whiteboy, they said, that although he might have been, safe enough when Mogue left him in the mountains, yet considering the state of the country, and that he unquestionably had enemies, he might not be free from danger on his way home. There was scarcely a night in the week that the country was not traversed by multitudes of those excited and unscrupulous mobs, that struck terror to the hearts of the peaceful, or such as were obnoxious to them. Accordingly, after waiting a couple of hours, Alick Purcel got a double case of pistols, and proposed to go as far as O'Driscol's, where they took it for granted, as he had not been able to come to dinner, they would find him should he have returned.

"Alick," said the father, "after all the notices we have got, and considering the feeling that is against us, it is ridiculous to be fool-hardy--don't go by the road but cross the fields."

"Such is my intention, sir," replied Alick; "for although no coward, still I am but flesh and blood, and it is death you know, for mere flesh and blood to stop a bullet. Give me my enemy face to face and I don't fear him, but when he takes me at night from behind a hedge, courage is of little use, and won't save my life."

On arriving at O'Driscol's, he found that M'Carthy had not come, and after waiting till one o'clock, he prepared to take his departure. At this moment, a female servant tapped at the drawing-room door, and after having been desired to come in, she communicated the following startling particulars:--She had forgotten her washing, she said, and gone out a little time before to bring it in, and in doing so, she spied several men with black faces and white shirts skulking about the house. She was not sure, she said, on having the question put to her, whether she had been seen by them or not.

This communication, which was given with every mark of alarm and terror, completely altered the posture of affairs at the magistrate's. Katherine O'Driscol's face became deadly pale as she turned a glance upon young Purcel, which he well understood. "Alick," said she, "under these circumstances, it would, be absolute madness to attempt going home to-night. It is very likely they have discovered that you are here, and are watching for you."

"But if I do not return home," he replied, "it is equally probable that John and my father, wondering at my delay, may come to look for me, and in that case they might meet these ruffians--or rather might be waylaid by them."

"Purcel, my dear fellow!" said the magistrate, who was now pretty deep in his cups, and consequently somewhat pot-valiant--or at least disposed to show them a touch of his valor--"Alick, my dear fellow, you are courageous enough, I admit, but at the same time, you must put yourself under the guidance of a brave and loyal old magistrate, who is not to be cowed and intimidated by a crew of midnight cut-throats. You'll gee now, Alick, my boy, what a touch of loyal courage can do. Upon my honor, and conscience, I will myself escort you home."

"By no means, sir," replied Purcel, "I could not think of putting you to such a risk, and inconvenience at this late hour."

"But I say by all manes, Alick--and as for inconvanience, it is none at all."

"But Mr. Purcel will expose neither himself nor you, my dear father," said Katherine; "he will be guided by good sense, and remain here to-night."

"Tut! you foolish cowardly girl, go to bed--you play loo very well, and have won seven-and-sixpence from me to-night. That's your province. No, upon my sowl and honor, I'll see him home. What! is it for the intelligent and determined O'Driscol, as your brother John said--and who is well known to be a very divil incarnate when danger's before him--is it for such a man--the terror of evil-doers--to funk from a crew of White-boys! What would my friend the Castle say if it knew it?--divil resave the line ever it would correspond with me again. Get me my pistols, I say--a case for each pocket, and the blunderbush under my arm--then come on, M'Donough, as the play says, and blazes to him who runs last." Here he gave a lurch a little to the one side, after which he placed himself in something intended for a military attitude, and drawing his hand down his whiskers, he inflated himself as if about to give the word of command, "Soldiers, steady,"--here he gave another lurch--"recover omes (arms)--charge bayonets--present--halt--to the right about--double quick--:bravo--you see what I could do, if placed in a military position."

"We do, sir," said Fergus, laughing; "not a doubt of it." The latter then whispered something to Purcel, who smiled, and immediately turning to the doughty magistrate, said:--

"Well, sir, since you insist upon protecting me home--"

"Good--that's the word, Alick--steady boys--shoulder omes."

"I will feel very happy, sir, in your escort."

"Yes, Alick--yes--exactly so--but then we are time enough, man--the night's but young yet--we must have another tumbler before we go--if it is only to put terror into these villains."

"I am exceedingly sorry that it is out of my power to wait, sir. My father and John may possibly come over here, and if they do it is difficult to say what these blood-thirsty villains, who care so little about human life--especially, sir, when that life belongs to either a tithe-proctor or a magistrate, may do. You will oblige me very much, sir, by coming with me now. I wish to heavens I had your courage, Mr. O'Driscol, and that I-was such a wicked and desperate dare-devil as you are."

"Good, Alick, upon my honor and conscience, you've hit me off there--hallo--what is this?--put these pistols and that blunder-bush aside, and be d--d to you, we don't want them yet awhile;" this was addressed to the servant who had brought them at Fergus's suggestion. "I am a hospitable man, Alick--a convivial man--and I tell you that I don't wish a guest to leave my house with dry lips--and what is more, I won't allow it--sit down then, and take your punch, or if you're afraid of these fellows why didn't you say so?"

"I am then, sir," replied Alick, who thought that by admitting the fact, he might the sooner bring matters between himself and the magistrate to a crisis.

"What!" exclaimed the latter, "you admit your cowardice, do you?--Well, upon my honor and reputaytion, Alick, I'm extremely surprised at you--a young fellow like you--and a coward! Now I'll tell you what, Alick, I hate a coward--I despise a coward, and d--n me if any man who is mane enough to acknowledge himself to be one, shall have the benefit of my escort this night. Then stay where you are, sir, and take your punch--but you are not entitled to any protection; no, confound me if you are! A nice office for a man of my mettle to escort a coward!--no, no--take your punch, I say--you are safe under this roof, but as touching my protection, no fellow of your kidney shall resave it from me, unless in honest open daylight with a body of police or military at my elbow; and, besides, you have declined my hospitality, Mr. Purcel, and with the man--but man you are not--who declines my hospitality, I will keep no terms. Here's the 'Castle!' long life to it, and may it never have occasion to read me a lecture for protecting a coward! Steady, men--shoulder oines!--ah, I'm a pearl before swine here:--upon my honor and conscience, I'm nothing else--hurra!"

Whilst this manifestation of courage and loyalty was proceeding, his daughter had sent a little girl by a lonely and circuitous way across the fields to Longshot Lodge, with a message to the effect that they had prevailed upon Alick to stop for the night, and that he would also breakfast there the next morning. The little girl's absence was very brief, and on her return, Alick had no hesitation in remaining. The heroic magistrate, having taken another tumbler, began to get drowsy, and with some assistance, was prevailed on to go to bed, where he almost immediately fell asleep. The two young men then got together all the arms and ammunition in the house, which, having made ready for an attack, they went also to bed, taking only their coats off, where for the present we leave them--but not asleep--and return to M'Carthy, for whose absence, no doubt, the reader is anxious that we should account. _

Read next: Chapter 12. Out Of The Frying-Pan Into The Fire

Read previous: Chapter 10. The Sport Continued

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